


Tea and Sympathy

by mimosa-supernova (FourCatProductions)



Series: The Wheel, The Shield, The World [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Allusion to Fantastic Racism, Family Drama, Ficlet, Friendship, Gen, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/mimosa-supernova
Summary: Revyn and Lidriel discuss the particulars of siblinghood.





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> Quick vignette set between Bad Moon Rising and the early parts of The Book of Love.

They’d become friends through a series of accidents, though Revyn never would have admitted to it (the friendship _or_ the accident, take your pick). He was a scrupulous mer, honest to a fault, and Lidriel was neither of those things – he had a Bosmer name, and claimed he was Bosmer so he was permitted inside the city, but Revyn knew an Ohmes when he saw one. They met because Lidriel was drunk and broke into the wrong shop. At least, that was what he claimed. It had taken him a while to explain, since Revyn was alternately trying to beat him senseless with a broom handle and set him on fire.

Another thing about Lidriel: he packed a nasty left hook. Revyn’s jaw ached just thinking about it.

Either way, he’d left without taking anything. And then, to Revyn’s disbelief, he’d come back the following day. Strolled in pretty as you please and leaned on the counter, dressed in sleek leather armor with his hood drawn, and asked what was for sale. Revyn was too busy being gobsmacked to throw him out, and rattled off something about not doing business with thieves, even as his stomach twisted with guilt. Lidriel had looked at him with calm golden eyes, pupils slitted in the sunlight, and it had all spilled out – a lost shipment, an unverified seller, Viola Giordano carrying on about her missing ring all over the city. When he’d finished, Lidriel held out his hand, palm up.

“What?”

“The ring. I will return it for you. Make it seem as if she merely misplaced it.”

The edges of the ring bit into Revyn’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”

Lidriel’s fangs flashed when he smiled. “Do you see anyone else offering?”

Revyn had been forced to concede defeat. He didn’t want anyone else knowing about his blunder, and his lockpicking skills were non-existent. If Viola hadn’t already demanded the guards search the Gray Quarter for the thief, she would soon enough. He’d handed it over. Lidriel tucked it into his pocket and winked.

He’d returned two hours later, and when Revyn looked up to see him standing in the doorway, he said, “First you go after the wrong mark, then you break into someone’s house to return something. What sort of thief are you?”

Lidriel burst out laughing, and just like that, they were friends, or something close to it. They didn’t see one another very often, but once every few months or so he’d get out some pastries and make a pot of canis root tea, and Lidriel would show up not long after. And yes, Revyn protested each visit, but in truth, he enjoyed their time together, even though he knew inviting a thief into his home also meant inviting the trouble that inevitably came with them. The company made the shop feel warmer and brighter, if only for a night.

 

On this particular night, the tea had gotten cold long before Lidriel climbed through the window by the bookcase, covered in snow and missing a boot. “I hate this city,” he said crossly, shaking off the worst of the slush.

Revyn hid a smile. “I have a door, you know.” Lidriel spat and came to huddle in the chair nearest to the fire, shivering. Revyn fetched him a blanket and reheated the tea. “What happened to you?”

“Wolves.” It was his voice that gave him away. No matter how he looked, his words had that raspy quality unique to Khajiit, elongated and sibilant. It was light too, almost a purr. Revyn had taken him for female on their first meeting. He’d been quickly disabused of _that_ notion. “A pack chased me all the way from Kynesgrove to the stables. I climbed up to the roof to get away, but one of them stole my boot. I am sure I have frostbite,” he finished, extending his bare foot dramatically.

Revyn thrust a cup into his hands. “Drink that and let me take a look at you.” It did appear that there was some damage, skin raw and red beneath a light dusting of fur and chapped from the freezing cold. He got a healing potion for Lidriel to drink alongside the tea, and they sat at the cramped wooden table next to the hearth, its fire crackling to fill the silence between words.

“I do not know how you stand it here.” Lidriel sipped at his cup. “Do you have any sugar?”

“You and your damned sweet tooth.” Revyn handed him the jar that had the last of the honey, along with a butter pastry. He’d have to hope there was some selling at the Gray Quarter’s outdoor market. Delicacies were in shorter supply than usual during the winter. “And what makes you think I can stand it?”

“Thank you.” Lidriel spooned honey into his cup and stirred, letting it dissolve. “You are still here, are you not?”

Revyn pursed his lips. “I bought this shop twenty years ago, and every day since, I’ve fought to keep my doors open. Do you have any idea how long it took to build my reputation here? I have no desire to start over.”

One of Lidriel’s ears twitched. “You are never tempted?”

“Of course I am. But having the means to leave is precisely why I can’t.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “Twenty percent of my profits go back to the community. They depend on me. And even if that weren’t the case – “ He cut himself off, and shot Lidriel a look over the rim of his cup. “What does it matter to you, anyway?”

Lidriel didn’t say anything for a minute. He finished his tea and burrowed further into the roughspun quilt, pulling it tight around his shoulders.

“I have just come from Whiterun,” he said at last. “To try to… visit. Make amends. But I fear I have only made things worse.”

“Make amends? With who?”

“I have a brother. He came with me to Skyrim from Valenwood, but we fell out shortly after. He does not agree with how I conduct my business.”

Revyn nibbled at one of the little cakes absently. He hadn’t known that Lidriel had any family. He supposed he’d never thought about it. “Doesn’t like you being a thief, you mean?”

Lidriel barked out a short laugh. “Yes. Corim thinks he can succeed if he plays by their rules.” He looked at Revyn pointedly. “You have been playing by their rules for twenty years, and yet you cannot win. I am not as optimistic as he is.”

Revyn glared at him. The fire was burning low, and he got up and added another stick of kindling. He might have a point, but there was no need to rub salt in the wound. “That’s your brother’s name? Corim?”

Lidriel nodded. His mouth turned down at the corners. “He is living in Whiterun now. He joined their Companions, he found other Bosmer, he… he got married. And I did not know.” Revyn straightened up, one hand on the mantle. Lidriel scratched his chin with gloved fingers. “I had hoped we could at least talk, but he wants nothing to do with me.”

“That bad?”

“He threatened to have me thrown out if I did not leave.” Lidriel’s composure cracked, just for a moment. Unbridled sorrow made his voice rough around the edges. “The last time we saw each other, we fought, said terrible things to one another, but I had still hoped…”

Revyn took the kettle from the table and ducked outside. He came back in a few seconds later with a kettleful of snow, which he put on to boil over the cooking spit. The shop was quiet for a while, save the lid rattling and the hiss and clank of the metal. When it began to whistle, he took it off and made them each a fresh cup, this time of lavender and snowberry.

“I have a sister,” he said, pouring steaming water over the tea. The air around them billowed with sweet fragrance. “She lives here in Windhelm, but we hardly ever see one another. She works as a caretaker for the Cruel-Seas, one of the richest Nord clans in the city. Keeps her busy.”

“What is her name?”

“Idesa. And she’s part of why I can’t leave, even if I wanted to. She won’t leave Grimvar, and I won’t leave her.” He smiled ruefully. “We may not always get along, but we’re all we have left.”

“Family,” Lidriel said, “is a much trickier business than thieving.”

Revyn chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“To family?”

“To family.” Their cups clinked together. “Don’t give up on your brother. He wouldn’t be so angry if he didn’t care. Just give him some space until he’s calmed down, and maybe don’t show up unannounced. Start with a letter next time.”

“Do you think so?”

“It’s worth a try. Although,” Revyn fixed him with a stern look, “he might be more receptive if you quit thieving.”

Lidriel grinned. “But then who will you call on to return old Nord women’s rings for you?”

“And to think,” said Revyn, “I was going to lend you a pair of my boots.”

 

Lidriel was gone early the next morning, and he absconded with Revyn’s third-best pair of shoes, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. What was a surprise was a few days later, when a pair of beautifully-crafted leather boots and a stone jar full of honey turned up on his doorstep. There was a bill of sale attached, indicating that the boots had been obtained through legitimate means. He flipped it over to find Lidriel’s rough scrawl.

_A gift, for your hospitality. The honey is contraband, so be wary – the bear I stole the honeycomb from may come looking for it._

“Little fetcher,” Revyn muttered, more fondly than not, and went to open his shop.


End file.
